To Look Forward
by Zhar
Summary: Tumblr prompt fill for AquaBurst07: "Alright, how about a Kallura story where Keith is the Altean prince and Allura is the everyday girl."


**(A/N:** **Some notes on this piece: Aqua cleared it up with me that this is a canon-setting role reversal piece, however I opted not to do a strict role reversal as I didn't want to open up the can of worms that Allura being Galra would bring, not to mention my own discomfort at the idea. Additionally, the Altean royalty colors have been switched because Keith's red is just so…ingrained into him for me that I can't really detach him from them.  
**

 **With that said, please enjoy!)**

* * *

The room was filled with the scent of centuries-old must, and it only got worse as she and the Prince piled clothes in the center of the room. He'd been wanting to do some cleaning of the Castle's quarters for a while; though the Paladins had been given empty lodgings, many of the rooms hadn't been so adequately cleared. It wasn't surprising: their previous inhabitants abandoned them when the Castle had been under siege millenia ago, tossing aside their belongings in a feverish rush for survival.

Allura ran her hand along a piece of smoky velvet fabric, its edges embroidered with a bronze floral design. It was so soft, a kind of wispy dream that she could have only imagined in her younger days, back when her world was so bleak that the only thing she _could_ rely on to ease the pain was her imagination. Her childhood had passed in a blur following the death of her parents, her memories of bruised skin and harsh words cushioned only by the poignant recollections of heavenly castles and starry twilit skies; of knights and swords, of flashes of herself in armor and then flowing dresses, of a world she could only dream of visiting.

She let her mind wander off again, as it was apt to do. All she could think about was the person who had worn this garment—what had they been like, how had they lived? Had he known them?

 _Probably_.

The realization sent all the air careening out of her lungs. Just how many lives had been lost aboard that ship? How many had he witnessed himself?

As if sensing her distress, he looked up. For a prince, he wasn't the best at communicating with others. But there was one thing Allura understood very well: he could _sense_ when something was off.

"I try not to think about it." He glanced at the pile of haphazardly-folded clothes at his feet. It was, quite honestly, the wost job she'd ever seen. "It just...it has to get done eventually. Going through everything makes it feel better, for some reason."

Allura bit her lip.

"Whose was this?"

He took a deep, shuddering, breath, as if he were holding back tears."

"My father's. His tunic. This is their room."

"God, I'm—"

"Don't apologize. Please."

"Of course," she said, letting herself back the slightest hint away from him. He froze, having picked up on the change in her movements, and she swore she saw him silently mouth a curse. It wasn't long before he got up, heading for the other end of the room, where he opened up one of the closets, quickly shutting the door once he saw what was inside.

"Hey, come over here. There's something I want to show you."

She folded one last article of clothing for good measure, stood, dusted off her legs, and joined him. He seemed to have recovered from their earlier conversation: he practically stood on his toes, now, unable to stand still, a small smile poking at the corners of his lips. He opened the closet door back up, slowly revealing what was inside.

A ballgown greeted them with majestic nobility, accompanied by its most trusted hanger. It was simple in decoration, a cloudy white skirt accompanied with a red bodice. Glittering jewels had been sewn into the skirt, so tiny that she couldn't see them until she tilted her head to the side and noticed a gleam. It was beautiful, so much _more_ than the daydreams she'd shielded herself with for so long. Until then, she had no idea it was possible for something to be that beautiful. Allura took a step back. She didn't breathe.

"This was my mother's." He bit his lip. "I've been afraid to put it into storage."

"Afraid? Or just not sure?"

A hint of red crept across his face.

"I know how to store clothes."

"Your folding habits say otherwise."

"I know how to store clothes, just not neatly." He placed a little extra emphasis on the last word before turning back to the topic at hand. "Anyway, like I was telling you before: this was my mother's dress. And I know you like sparkly things, so uh..."

Her jaw dropped.

"I couldn't. I don't even have anywhere to wear it to."

"At the end of all of this, we'll probably throw a big ball."

"Your favorite thing, diplomatic socializing."

He rolled his eyes and ran a hand down the dress. Now that he'd offered, Allura couldn't help but wonder how she'd look in it as she spun in the Castle's ballroom a glowing array of stars beneath the lights. How she'd look with him at her side. The image came as quick as a flash of lightning before settling back into her chest with a hard thump.

"Yeah, my favorite pastime. Anyway, you can wear it then." He seemed oddly at peace with the prospect, as if he hadn't just been about to lose himself over his father's old tunic.

"Is it really okay, though?"

"Yeah. It's...she died of an illness when I was little. It's not the same as with my father. With everyone else."

At once, she understood. He'd grieved her loss long ago and though he certainly missed her, she hadn't been ripped away as violently as the others had been. The dress itself still had to remind him of what had become extinct, of a life that, according to time, he'd lost long ago—even though it didn't feel that way. Of an old way that he hadn't quite come to terms with losing. And of red, of an essence of life that would continue on, building anew as stars continued to explode, as beings slaughtered one another, as dreams faded to ephemeral dust.

Allura placed a hand over his, stopping the motion with a gentle squeeze. He let out a sigh of relief, placing his other hand on top of hers, their warmth a vow of promise that neither had quite yet put into words.


End file.
